God's colourful and inspirational soldier

THE Queen gave him a knighthood, the post-independence
government made him "Grand Chief", and village headmen offered him
trophies of pigs and also their daughters in marriage (the latter
of which he always declined, claiming he couldn't afford the "bride
price").

The Most Reverend David Hand, who has died aged 87, was not only
an Anglican archbishop of Papua New Guinea, but also many things to
many people. To most, however, he was the classic idealist,
celibate Anglo-Catholic missionary in the tradition of Trevor
Huddleston and other descendants of the Oxford Movement. He had
spent 60 of his 87 years in the land he had grown to love, and
whose citizenship he had accepted.

In some respects the very model for one of British poet John
Betjeman's "extreme colonial bishops", Bishop David, as he
preferred to be known, had the foibles common to that breed, and
employed lay expatriates almost as colourful as himself.

When I first met him, in 1971, he was being tailed by a
missionary filmmaker and photographer, Lily Best ("Tiger Lil"),
whose quirks included travelling with a chamber-pot - her
"developing tank" - tied to her waist. I recall the fuss when, thus
attired, she fronted immigration officers at Sydney Airport.

Tiger was actually somewhat of a miracle worker. More than 80
per cent blind, she would ask her targets to focus the lens for
her. Yet the results were excellent. "The split image rangefinder
has been my salvation," she told me.

A believer in media exposure to gain staff and money for his
struggling diocese, Hand employed a publicity officer, Susan Young,
who smoked cheroots and flew a plane. When she returned to England,
Hand sought my help, resulting in a story in the UK Press
Gazette headed "Vacancy - worst-paid job in journalism". (The
missionary stipend was then $25 a month.) The bait was taken by a
young Englishman, Rowan Callick, a future Walkley Award winner and
Australian Journalist of the Year.

Hand was a stocky, chunky man - hardly a tailor's delight - who
exuded authority. "A 'plummy' version of General Cosgrove," as
someone recently remarked. My first meeting with him, 34 years ago,
in a Papuan mission, is ingrained in my memory. We sat at opposite
sides of a large table. The heat was stifling, though he hardly
seemed to notice. I sought permission to take notes. Then, leaning
forward, as if about to impart some great words of wisdom, he said
solemnly: "The secret of life in the tropics is ... Johnson's Baby
Powder, lots of it."

Though bulky, he was, for most of his life, remarkably fit. This
was demonstrated in 1972, when, with Archbishop Sir Marcus Loane of
Sydney, and the moderator of the local United Church, he walked the
Kokoda Trail, in support of an appeal

in aid of the diocese. Although they were theologically poles
apart, the adventure was to forge a friendship between Hand and
Loane based on mutual respect and only now broken by death.

Unlike some "high" churchmen, shorts, a loose-fitting shirt, a
wooden cross and heavy, sensible shoes were Hand's favoured garb.
But when dressed in full archiepiscopal fig, at some ceremonial
function, he was up there with the best of them. During a royal
visit, Prince Philip is said to have confused him with the papal
delegate. When Hand told him he was "Church of England", Philip is
said to have asked: "Are you sure?"

As with others of his calling, Hand possessed an authoritarian
streak, and was occasionally cutting, for which he was remorseful.
His successor bar one, Archbishop Bevan Meredith, recalls a meeting
of the provincial council at which expatriate clergy complained it
was hard to live on their meagre allowance. Hand made a remark to
the effect that when he visited their homes there was "usually a
bottle of wine on the table".

Meredith, then his junior, privately reproached him. "I told him
they'd probably given up things to buy that bottle just for his
visit." Hand apologised. Meredith, now also retired, says of his
friend: "He was the kind of person you'd get thoroughly mad at.
Then you'd sit down and discuss it, and you'd think 'this bloke's
wonderful; he's a saint."'

Biographical details of Hand are sketchy. Apart from being a
citizen of the new Papua New Guinea (he was the first European to
apply), he also, at times, described himself as "a Yorkshireman"
and proud Queenslander.

He was born in Queensland, where his father, Canon William Hand,
who had been born in Yorkshire, was the rector of Clermont. He had
two elder brothers, who also became priests. Two years later his
parents returned to England where his father took up a country
parish in West Norfolk. Educated at Gresham's, an English public
(that is, private) school, Hand went to Oriel College, Oxford,
where he took a history degree.

Feeling called to the life of a priest, he moved to Cuddesdon
Theological College to prepare for ordination. At about this time
he heard of the Gona martyrs, murdered soon after the Japanese
invasion of New Guinea. He was particularly moved by the story of
one of them, Father Vivian Redlich, and after a brief spell as a
curate in Heckmondwike, West Yorkshire, successfully sought to
replace the dead priest in the New Guinea mission. (Curiously,
Redlich's father and Hand's father had been ordained, many years
earlier, in a shared ceremony in Wakefield Cathedral.)

Father David, as he was at that time, sailed from England in
September 1946, and after delays in Melbourne, flew into Port
Moresby on November 28. A succession of "bush" postings followed,
with the young priest gaining attention of his superiors for his
pastoral skills and efforts at some seven or eight languages -
Papua New Guinea is reported to have more than 700 - virtually
simultaneously. Years later, Hand confided to Bishop Meredith that
he'd had trouble studying languages. On his departure for Papua New
Guinea he had asked a group of priests to pray he would be given
the "gift of language" so he could preach the Gospel to the people
to whom he would be sent.

That this proved successful is demonstrated in an incident in
the 1950s that became part of local lore. According to the story,
the governor-general of Australia, Sir William Slim, was visiting a
Papuan regional centre to deliver a speech. The interpreter, a
local man, found it heavy going, offering, after a bout of silence:
"I can't follow what this man is saying, but he seems happy to be
here." Then followed a similar bout and a repeat: "I can't
understand him, but he still seems happy."

At this point the audience started laughing. The visitor, aware
that something was wrong, called for an explanation. At which
point, Hand, who was standing in the wings, diplomatically took
over.

By the time of the incident, Hand was an assistant bishop,
having been consecrated on June 29, 1950. It was a month after his
32nd birthday, making him the youngest bishop at the time in the
entire Anglican Communion.

In January 1951, while Hand was in Australia seeking staff to go
with him into new fields, tragedy struck with the explosion of the
Mount Lamington volcano. About 4000 people died, including many
potential leaders of the church who had gathered together at the
Sangara mission for in-service training. Hand returned quickly and
took a leading part in the rehabilitation of the area.

By 1962 Hand had become a legend. His superior, Bishop Philip
Strong, was elected Archbishop of Brisbane, and Hand was approved
as his successor. In February 1977 the diocese (subject to
ecclesiastical control in Queensland) became an independent
Anglican province, with Hand elevated to archbishop. The Archbishop
of Canterbury, Dr Donald Coggan, was the principal celebrant.

I was part of a press party travelling with Coggan at this time.
At various stops he was met by mudmen, spear-waving warriors and a
converted cannibal who was a church warden. I recall he was
surprised at meeting a delegation of "hearers", potential recruits
to Christianity who were not considered sufficiently advanced to
worship "indoors", as were the next grade, catechumens, but were
allowed to hear the Gospel under the trees.

Coggan was not told about one convert, a witchdoctor (Hand
preferred the term "medicine man") called Amos. Such was the man's
renown that some years after the event, Hand decided to make a film
about him. For this a professional company was employed, and the
film Amos of Papua was produced. Alas, Amos got so excited
re-enacting his former activities for the camera that he decided to
become a witchdoctor again.

Hand retired in 1983, and returned to England for two years to
allow his successor, George Ambo, to get into the saddle. He
received a knighthood (KBE) as a citizen of Papua New Guinea rather
than of Britain the following year.

From time to time, in retirement, he would visit Australia to
see friends or undertake some promotional enterprise for the church
in Papua New Guinea. In Sydney (thanks to an anonymous and generous
benefactor) he stayed and would entertain guests at the up-market
Australian Club. Lunches would begin with grace and an admission
that he was the poorest person ever to grace its portals. In Port
Moresby he also joined the RSL Club, describing his military
service as "soldier of God".

In his final illness, though bedridden and in pain, he remained
in Port Moresby, rather than seek the comforts of an Australian or
European medical facility. I spoke to him by telephone, unaware of
the seriousness of his condition, about two weeks before his death
- I could hear children playing in the background.

Alan Gill

Alan Gill was for many years the religious affairs writer for
the Herald.